


Cherishing

by GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Harry and Ginny Discord's Wangst Fest, Postpartum Depression, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey/pseuds/GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey
Summary: "Somehow, now, she wasn't loving herself anymore, and Harry was more than concerned about it, because for his part, he was loving her more and more everyday."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Cherishing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDistantDusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/gifts).



> To my lovely Dusk. Happy Wangst fest!
> 
> Thanks Liza and Es! So so much!
> 
> To all the mothers: you're beautiful.
> 
> NSFW

Harry had been surprised at first by her reactions, even wondering if she'd regretted having James. His dream, one that he thought they were sharing, was besieged by the shadow of a powerful doubt that he just might not have been the person with whom she wanted to realize it with after all.

There was an icy feeling in his gut telling him that he'd messed up when he'd brought up, gathering all the courage he ever had, his desire to have a family one day. _With her_. That he should have waited longer, that the smile on her lips when he asked her to have a baby was one he'd had misread.

Hermione had finally crushed his train of thought one night when she'd brought up to Ginny that she looked tired. Ginny had replied with the exact sass for which he knew and loved her for. The kind that leaves a friend speechless and uncomfortable, but a husband proud. Well especially, if your husband was Harry Potter.

Eventually, when Ron told Ginny that she could "cut the sass," she sighed and replied that "having a eight month old baby isn't a walk in the park, you prat." She then snidely told her brother that, instead of playing the duchess in her Manor and leaving her baby to the house elves like some witches, she wanted to spend every little minute she could have with James until she'd have to return to work. Because that baby was everything she'd ever wished for.

He'd felt like a breath of fresh air had taken territory in his lungs, blowing away the dark cloud of his worries. He'd been so sure she was regretting not waiting a bit longer.

Harry had never wanted her to stop playing quidditch, but she'd brushed his worries away in telling him she'd thought about changing career soon after he'd shared his desire, albeit a bit shyly, his feelings about starting their family. Now that he knew it wasn't the case, it still didn't explain why everything in her behavior was screaming she wasn't okay. He felt utterly lost and useless, drowning in his worries.

Once James was born, Harry's darkest demons and memories were illuminated every morning by his sweet little smile, and the stakes of keeping his family safe now were higher than ever. However, his wife's smile was missing from the family portrait. He noticed it fairly soon, of course. Ginny had always had the easiest smile, one that was contagious and magnetic. One that made people drawn to her everywhere she went.

Now, only James' little chubby hands removing Harry's glasses could create the faint ghost of happiness at the corner of her mouth. In spite of it all, Ginny perfectly embraced her mummy role and Harry couldn't have wished better for his son.

She was all he'd always wanted after all.

* * *

Harry reached the kitchen, James' loud gleeful cries of eating raspberries making him feel like he was in someone else's life.

He found Ginny at the wooden table with tears in her eyes, her jaw set. One hand in was in her messy bun and the other tight around a crumpled copy of Witch Weekly.

He frowned, wondering what she could have read about him this time. He walked to her, alarmed to see her in this state, and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She removed his grip on her and narrowed her eyes, murmuring something about jeans that weren't fitting anymore, Fleur's perfect body, a broom that would break under her, and buying new robes.

She strode down the corridor, narrowly missing the multiple toys on the floor. She then shut the bathroom door, and Harry heard the water of the shower running a second later, which turned out to be a bad attempt to muffle her heartbreaking sobs. He looked concerned at James who was in no way bothered by the dramatic exit of his mother, too concentrated in smashing a raspberry on the side of his old highchair.

Making up his mind, he levitated James' highchair in the corridor and knocked on the wooden door. Without surprise, he was welcomed with _Go away!_ and _Leave me alone!_ , and his futile attempts of making her open the door were left unanswered.

Sighing, Harry decided to return to the kitchen in the intent of giving more fruits to his baby, one that was showing his dismay of not having more of them within his reach. He gave James a banana he'd found on the counter and looked discouraged at his son not waiting a second to squeeze it with his little fingers.

He picked up the terrible magazine and saw pictures of Ginny in Diagon Alley, sunglasses on her nose and her hair messy by the wind. She looked majestic in Harry's eyes, holding their son on her hip like he was such a precious treasure and it only made him fall in love with her more. His chest warmed at the view of James with his pacifier, looking in the photograph's direction like he had no care in the world, and Ginny accelerating her cadence, one arm holding James protectively and the other ready to brandish her wand at the first poor soul that would try to come too close to their baby.

_Is Baby Potter number 2 already on the way?_ _Page 20._

That was exactly when it clicked in his mind, her reactions of this morning finally making total sense. The desire to punch someone in the face, to hurt someone like they had hurt Ginny, was so intense after what he'd read he'd tore up the source of Ginny's heartache into pieces, only feeling content when it burned, James' laugh resonating in his ears while the flames were dancing on the table.

Many people were making comments about her weight post-pregnancy. It could be related to her quidditch career and bets on in how many months she'd find her weight pre-pegnancy, bad-mouths jealous of Ginny being married to him (to which Ginny always deadpanned responded they surely didn't know what it was like to share a bathroom with him), mediwitches analyzing her weight curve on the wireless, or amateur trainers sending her freely a program to lose weight.

It wasn't like her weight was anyone's business, not even his honestly. And she was far from needing help in anything, thank you very much. She was perfect. She'd made him believe she was unbothered by it, but he just now realized that it wasn't the total truth.

He'd been so stupid.

He'd heard at the last dinner at the Burrow Molly's angry shouts at the last edition, speculating about Ginny's weight and their divorce. She'd started to gesture frantically in every direction, the magazine taking the way of the fireplace, and said with passion that women weren't some sort of machine, able to lose the baby weight by only snapping their fingers.

The women at the table had all started reassuring Ginny, telling her she was so tiny or that heads were always turning when she was entering a room. Which was true and Harry had never known how to feel about that: be proud or annoyed. He was aware he had some weird jealousy traits, some he hated about himself, but what was truly annoying him was how everyone had wanted to take a pic of Harry Potter's girlfriend, not considering that she was before everything, Ginny, just Ginny. And his love life was no one's business.

The Weasleys all have something to add, beginning with how she was a beauty to be jealous of to how it could take time to find her old body again: months, years maybe. Or never, apparently. That was just how the body of a woman was; a rollercoaster of changes that they were all experiencing at some point.

Hermione insisted that the size of trousers was no indication of beauty and Harry couldn't have agreed more. He'd never been one to be attracted to a girl because of the shape of her body; he'd just fallen for Ginny's. All of her. As a whole.

Ginny knew all of that, she said at the table, and she shot her mother a look, daring her to add something. It was clear she was annoyed and uncomfortable and she didn't want to talk about her body post-pregnancy in front of her family. Without assuming he knew what it was to be in a new mother's shoes, Harry could understand it to a certain extent; he always hated to feel like all eyes in the room were on him and that everyone had a comment to make about his physic.

Thus, he'd get up from his chair to get everyone's attention and tried his best to change the subject of the discussion, smiling reassuringly at his wife.

She'd never been one to be scared about the weight she gained when she was pregnant, he recalled, and never he heard her say anything about jeans not fitting anymore on her hips or how she had to eat more vegetables.

On the contrary, he remembered her bright eyes illuminating when she had to change for a new size, relishing how their baby was growing up inside her. Harry's chest had filled up with warmth every time she'd hugged him and her belly had been in the way or every time she'd mentioned with a grin that she'd needed to borrow his shirts because hers weren't fitting on her anymore. She'd glowed and he'd simply basked into her warmth.

But somehow, now, she wasn't loving herself anymore, and Harry was more than concerned about it, because for his part, he was loving her more and more everyday.

He'd decided, when he noticed his wife faking a smile at her sisters-in-law, that ignorance was clearly not working or stopping the press, so the next morning, an howler was waiting for them, menacing every employee to ever try to spread lies and hurt his wife once more with these rubbishes, he'd arrive at their office with aurors on his heels, not bothered about casting hexes left and right.

That night, Angelina had stopped him before putting his foot in the fireplace for returning home, and had told him that many girls passed through that phase of not liking their new body, but that it would quickly be okay. He'd nodded and left for their cottage, the wheels in his mind turning with a frantic speed. Somehow, he didn't believe it.

Harry had tried to talk to her that night, going out of his way to tell her she was beautiful, but he knew he was doing a poor job of it if the way she was looking at him with annoyance was any indication.

It hadn't felt smooth or charming, and he'd just felt like a fool walking with both his feet in the same hole of pants. He was rubbish and clumsy and spent his night passing his hand through his messy hair thinking of the next kitsch phrase he could tell her to explain to her how gorgeous she was. He'd tried again and again despite his clumsiness, knowing full well he had nothing of a Romeo, and was crossing his fingers that he wasn't that terrible at making her feel loved and wanted.

Never had he been more relieved to never have had to win her heart in a date. For once in his life, he'd been lucky and it'd just happened naturally.

She'd shot him a look, one meaning to shut his mouth for a minute, and told him she was completely fine and to stop acting weird, so he'd gulped awkwardly, not knowing what else to do to help.

The simple idea of her not loving herself was unbelievable for him considering that apart from James, he'd never loved someone as much as he was loving her. He loved her so much that he once fought the dready fears consuming his insides and admitted to her the truth about his feelings. So much that she'd been his last thought before dying.

Time flew and her bad mood had intensified with the weeks.

She'd been fine the first months of James' life, the way a t-shirt fell on her being the last thing on her mind when she could rock her baby in her arms instead of thinking of futile details. She'd been blissfully happy, and nothing could have been powerful enough to destroy her delight of being James' mother.

But the whispers they crossed in the street, the unflattering words in the newspapers and magazines, and the judging smirks began to dig a hole in her once imperturbable self-esteem.

One by one.

The sunshine she usually was disappeared to let place to a semblance of herself, like if a gray storm that was continuously raging in her soul. He realized, a bit too late for his taste, that she hadn't been able to ignore the comments anymore.

Making love with her gave him heartaches, because the once fierce, delightful and funny girl he married transformed herself into someone needing to hide her new curves from him, accepting to make love only if the candles were blown and if she could keep his t-shirt on.

He'd said nothing, not knowing what to do but also letting her do what she needed to feel comfortable in this intimate moment they shared, even if her begs to keep the blanket on them had made his heart ragingly raced in his ribs.

It only became worse and worse, to the point she once even asked him to not look at her stretch-marks, and their first fight since James's birth had exploded that night. They hadn't made love, on the contrary. He'd blown up like an idiot and, with his exceptional charm and patience that were making him famous among his friends, he told her she was being a bit ridiculous.

It didn't turn out well.

After all, she hadn't been like that the first time they'd made love since James was born, and he'd been happily received with playfulness and such tenderness, it had cut his breath. He didn't understand what was happening and he was worried, because despite his attempts, he was unable to grasp what was the problem.

Harry had been able to take his time that first time, cherishing each new part of the mother of his son, kissing his way to her heart and asking her repeatedly if she was comfortable and ready.

Giving everything of himself, he'd savored that first time, that one for which the planet had stopped turning, the time had frozen and they had looked into each other eyes for what seemed like a lifetime. Admiring her lips parted when he'd entered her, he'd been welcomed by the new, but nonetheless perfect, her.

Harry had hoped he'd been able to divulge to her just how much he found her gorgeous, how she'd given him the family he'd always wanted and that he had no word to express what it meant to him, what she meant to him. How giving a part of her for him was the most intimate and important gesture she could have ever done for the little boy in the cupboard, the one dreaming of love and happiness and thinking he'd never be the receiver of such frivolous things. Not him. Not Harry.

She represented life, she offered herself for him, and it broke his heart to think she couldn't see just how much she'd never been sexier. Her scent never changed. The hotness of her skin, the warmth of her breath, and the taste of her lips on his either. The familiarity of the sound of her moans in his ears would always feel like home. He only had more to hold, more to admire, more to love. Just for him.

He'd changed too. He wasn't the same scranny and skinny teenager she'd kissed when he was sixteen. They were in the same boat. What he'd always hated about himself were things Ginny had mentioned absolutely loving. His hairy chest, his slim lips, his scrawny legs…

Just like her, her perfect imperfections attracted him, made her unique, and her new curves gave off a confidence, a mature and sexy vibe, she wasn't even aware of. He was in love with her whole, and she could change a thousand times in the years they'd be together that it'd change nothing of his love for her. Simply because her mind, her laugh, her scent, and her heart would always be the same.

His love for Ginny had only expanded when they became parents, and even developed into something even more deeper than what they were already sharing.

Harry had never pushed, never asked, never let her know he wanted something she wasn't into since James' birth. Or ever. Beside, he was the total proof that men could also have sex far away in their mind when there was a baby to take care at home. His focus was on James and Ginny's well being, and he'd rarely wished for his pillow that much at night.

He'd been aware that sex was going to be different after James' birth, he heard about it and he wasn't an insensitive and stupid man assuming it'd be easy. He knew that it could take time to find a routine, to find energy to use their bed for something else than sleep, and he didn't bloody mind a second.

It always had been about sharing, acceptance, and trust between them, in every sphere of their relationship. And moreover, he'd felt unwanted enough in his life to ever bring it in his bed with his wife.

When Ginny exited the bathroom half an hour later, the scent of smoked newspaper still floating in the kitchen, she made her way directly towards James, picking him up and then tickled his belly like she hadn't cried her eyes out earlier. Harry was unsure of how to proceed exactly and frowned, not wanting to do anything rash like he was used to.

She needed to change her mind, it was evidence, and tonight was Luna's birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were babysitting James for the night for the first time and he was hoping it would help her.

He watched them laugh together, and couldn't keep himself from smiling. Still, he was aware that Ginny had just ran to the bathroom to cry because of pictures of her in a magazine and he wasn't about to act like nothing had happened.

Placing himself behind her, he started caressing her shoulders. Maybe he put too much pressure on her arms, he didn't exactly know, but he winced when she stiffed under his touch. It wasn't in her habits to do that, it was _his_ , and unlike Ginny who always knew how to react to him, he felt like he was walking on eggshells.

"We could start preparing James' bag, what do you think?" she said to him, and without waiting for an answer, she left with a giggling James in her arms.

* * *

His wife had turned to him, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed with the alcohol, and had asked him, plain and simple, when was the last time he'd wanked. Harry had never been that glad for the always-too-high noise of the Leaky Cauldron. She'd waited for his response, the smirk grazing her lips a sign she was ready to wait all night if necessary.

That bloody smirk.

Some people had been talking about sex tonight at their table, and the subject of pleasuring themselves had eventually come up. Harry had simply listened, sometimes grunting a response when they were asking him to confirm something.

"Er, I-" he began, and then coughed to hide his discomfort. Obviously, nobody was listening to them, which at least was a relief. That's what he liked of her and why she was the perfect match for him, for someone like him, with his crazy life. Ginny had always made sure to keep their sexual activities and their relationship private.

Ginny only lifted her eyebrow, which was unfair considering the fact she knew how he always found it sexy. It wasn't that he didn't want to share the information with her, no, not really. More exactly that they'd never talked about that before, he realized.

"I don't know, Gin. It's not like I ever kept track of it, didn't I?"

"Hum. Okay, then. Tell me where you hide your porn magazines," she said with excitement, which only confused him. "Oh yeah, that's true, I forgot. You're _different_ ," she added, using Seamus's words he'd used to describe Harry's relationship with porn, which clearly Ginny hadn't believed one bit. Her eyes full of mirth were never leaving his while her fingers were turning her straw in her glass.

He narrowed her eyes at her, annoyed. "Right. Thank you, I guess."

"Oh, don't make that face Drama Queen, that's why I'm so into you. You're full of surprises," she said, winking and then taking a sip of her golden drink.

He sighed. "I mean, it's not like I had easy access to magazines or anything before."

Ginny frowned, and he swallowed, wondering for a second if he'd said something wrong. "There was a tone of those in Bill's bedroom. Don't look at me like that, of course I know, Harry. You surely used them a couple of times?

"Er, no."

She laughed. "I swear I won't be mad if you did, I'd find it kinda charming in fact. It's only natural, love," she added kindly, her hand on his forearm.

She started playing with the hair on it, twisting them between her fingers to finally caress his skin to appease it and then resume her activity. "I guess I- I'm just curious. I want to know everything about you," Ginny said, her face flaming red under her words. She shrugged, removing her hand from his arm and turning a little on her chair, putting a distance between their bodies.

She made a joke he didn't really catch, attempting to lighten the mood and acted like it was nothing, but Harry -for once- knew better. In the spur of the moment, he caught her hand on the table and interlaced their fingers, squeezing them to redirect her attention towards him.

He'd be honest. "I-I just never used them. Not under your parents' roof. I couldn't," Harry related, shaking his head, his voice veiled with a new seriousness. "I mean, I knew they were there, that Bill had them. They weren't well-hided in his cupboard, after all. But looking at them, -I mean okay, I looked-" he rushed and Ginny smirked. Again that smirk that made Harry practically lose his words. "- _using them,_ I-, it felt like a line I couldn't cross."

"You know my brothers clearly used them a thousand times, right? You could have. It was your house too," she softly said, caressing his knuckles with her thumb, her fingers playing with his wedding ring. Her words resonated in his ears like each time she'd mentioned this, warmth blooming in his heart. She searched his eyes, her eyebrows lifted in question, like if she'd wanted to make sure it really entered this thick head of his this time.

He shrugged casually, and then cleared his throat, hoping it wasn't evident her words affected him. "I guess, but I was a teenage boy anyway. It never took mu-" he cleared his throat and swallowed, realizing Ginny was drinking his every word. "I- er, just didn't _need_ them." His eyes darted on the dirty wet floor under their table, his shoes catching his interest like never before.

"So, you mean you wanked thinking about someone then?" she shouted a bit too loudly to his liking, the alcohol obviously weakening her inhibitions, and Harry's eyes wided.

"Fuck, Gin! Keep it low," he growled through clenched teeth, but Ginny continued on her spear, not minding where they were tonight. "I never said anything about-"

" _Please_ , Merlin, tell me it wasn't Fleur, Harry Potter!"

For a second, he looked at his wife like she was crazy, his face contorted in disgust.

" _Please_ ," he mimicked before continuing, "I'm not Ronald Weasley."

He knew without a doubt that he looked too proud of himself at that moment, his fingers bouncing on the table with excitement. A part of him was hoping Hermione hadn't heard him his joke, though, because nothing of it was true.

"OhMyGod OhMyGod. Ew," Ginny cried, and it was his turn to smirk. "I didn't want to know _that_."

"I mean, you seemed to want to know a whole bunch tonight," he said, picking up his firewhiskey and taking a sip, his smirk still plastered on his lips.

Ginny bounced on her chair. "Just tell me, Harry. C'mon. What are your preferences?" she whispered with a smirk, leaning conspiratorially towards. She bit her bottom lip, waiting for his answer.

"Who are you and why do you look so much like Gin?" he managed to ask, his face in flames.

She didn't look amused anymore: her lips were now in a thin line and her eyebrows in a frown. "I mean, that's fine, Harry. You can tell me you did it. We haven't done it since weeks. I'm _aware_ ," she said, slurring a little before picking up her drink and taking a sip. Harry couldn't stop a frown to appear on his face, hoping she wasn't seriously thinking it even mattered to him.

It never did. All he'd always wanted was to be with her, to be with someone loving him, whatever they were doing.

Her leg touched his and he knew what she was playing at. "Surely a witch or two grazed that dirty mind of yours," she suggested. Picking up her drink again, she held his gaze, asking him to refute what she just insinuated. Her smile had returned and he knew that she wasn't angry, she was just curious. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that Ginny's questions were meant to ask for more than they were supposed to.

"Not really."

"Mmm, not really? So, yeah?"

He narrowed his eyes. "No. Not really like no," he repeated, not making place for argument and Ginny pouted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, accidently bumping his glasses up, and realized he'd drank a lot more than he'd first thought.

He sighed. "Ginny, look, I don't know what you want me to tell you, but there's nothing much to say. I-I don't care about telling you, really. Just that, I have nothing to tell. My _preferences_ are you, us in fact. It's just-you, me. I don't know."

"I'm serious."

"And I am, too! Bloody hell, Gin, you're gorgeous. I'm not _totally_ blind," he said, and exactly like he was hoping, she smiled at his poor attempt of a joke, but lost her smile faster than he was hoping.

Seamus chimed in, and both Harry and Ginny started, having forgotten they weren't alone. "Yeah Gin, us guys wank and we don't always need to think much. I mean, all that setting with flowers and bullshit is not what we need. Two or three strokes and bingo. There's no face to our wanking fantasies, just tits and arses, right mate?" he nodded in Neville's direction, who contented himself to blush to the root of his hair and turned away from them. Seamus laughed, and resumed his discussion with Ernie, unbothered by the discomfort he just created.

Ginny looked at Harry, and he just nodded awkwardly, pressing his hand around his cold wet glass and making sure to keep his eyes on it. "Er, I guess. But I mean, I'm serious. I really think of you."

It felt like she had enough and she just snapped. She threw her head behind her with a sarcastic laugh. "Okay. Of course, Harry," she said, winking like she was easy on him and willing to play his game. She turned on her wooden chair, the legs scraping on the ground in her move, and inserted herself in the discussion with Seamus and Ernie.

Harry was aghast. "It's true!" he replied, offended that she wasn't trusting him, but also worried he'd said something to hurt her.

Ginny glanced at him, her lips pressed in a thin line, but didn't answer. Her ignorance hurt him more than he was willing to admit.

Huffing, he turned too, his back on her, and focused on Ron's new story about the shop. Everyone listening to Ron's antics were laughing, but Harry was unable to change his bad mood, still confused at how a perfectly fine night could have taken such a dramatic turn.

He looked up from his glass, and then tried to calm himself by staring at an old painting of a knight galloping on his horse on the far stoned wall of the Leaky Cauldron.

He wasn't sure what girls were really thinking when it came to men's wank habits. Most of the time, it was messy, quick, deprived of sweet feelings and candles and devoid of any particular routine. It was to let off some steam and not to experience a magical night with themselves in the bath. It didn't matter if they had hours or a couple of minutes; what had to be done would be done.

Harry wasn't the exception, but he knew it took a bit more for him sometimes. He needed to feel secure. He needed to be sure he wouldn't be distracted by nights filled with terror and anxiety. He needed to feel normal and Ginny gave him that normality he'd craved for so long, that feeling he was loved and in security in her arms, that even a war wouldn't succeed in separating them.

Thus, Ginny was always on his mind when he wanked. Even if his mind was blank and he was focused on doing it quickly, that it wasn't filled with vision of her naked body, his senses were filled with every part of her. They were full of her. He could smell her sweet perfume in the hot air of the shower, he could imagine her small warm hand stroking him instead of his own, the sound of her moans, or still taste her on his lips. She was everywhere, she was everything.

He didn't know how to tell her, really, that it felt like a lifetime since he'd thought about anyone but _her_. The scenes changed. The settings varied. Sometimes she'd be on her knees in front of him, other times she'd be on her back, her fingers working frantically as she bit her lip.

Howbeit, what he could assure with absolute certainty was that it was her. Always her.

His eyes fell from the portrait, and he caught Luna looking at him. She'd clearly heard everything, nothing to help his mood, so he spent the rest of the night scowling at the table, wondering what he did wrong for Ginny to think he didn't desire her.

* * *

Harry removed his glasses and put them next to his wand on his nightstand. He was lying next to Ginny in their bed, her back at him, the moonlight hitting it just the right ways. The cutest little snores were escaping her lips. He'd tried to not wake her up when he'd slipped into bed after his shower.

She was so exhausted, and drunk -- and he was too. He knew that James was a handful and that even if he was doing everything he could to alleviate her tasks at home with the baby, it wasn't enough.

Her soul was tired, melancholic, and she needed more than a good night sleep. He was aware. He wasn't always some self-centered fool Hermione liked to call him affectionately. Despite what people could think, Ginny was his whole universe now, and he liked to think he wasn't that terrible of a husband, even if he knew nobody else than Ginny could put up with his shits. And he was trying --Merlin that he was trying-- to be better. For her. For James.

She needed time for herself, she needed to feel loved, and that was all he wanted to do tonight, hoping suddenly he hadn't done such a bad job in the last hours.

But, since the baby was away for the night, the last thing he'd wanted was to prevent Ginny from sleeping all the hours she could manage, not even one less.

Harry was fully awake for his part, gyrating in their bed, and he considered for a second to get up and wander in the house in search of something to do or clean. Like that, at least, he wouldn't bother her. Sighing, he turned on his back, and his hand fell on his thigh.

He exhaled from his nose, deep, his lips pressing together in a thin line. Their discussion about wanking tonight turned in his head unremittingly, and he had to admit that Ginny wanting to know, to have _details_ of his wanking sessions, was absolutely and completely arousing.

Even better, completely drunk, she told him how she used to touch herself often when she was pregnant with James, feeling like she was just a bunch of needy and greedy inflamed cells walking around in their house. He swallowed...

Hard.

He hadn't planned it, really, with the exhaustion filling his every bone, but the smirk she'd given him at the Leaky Cauldron kept creeping into his mind, alighting his desire for her and the shape of her curves. Feeling the hardness of his member over the fabric of his pajamas, he took a deep breath, the friction of the textile under his palm invigorating his senses.

He stopped breathing, afraid to wake Ginny up.

Just like always, Ginny's opened-mouth in a perfect _O_ appeared behind his eyes, followed by her blazing look, daring him to pleasure her. Whatever how she looked, she'd always be the most beautiful in his eyes. Nothing, no gained weight, no new curves to trace, no perfect stretch-marks to cherish could change the intimate feeling of them together, making love.

However, the simple idea of bothering Ginny with his impulses in the middle of the night, of waking her up when her needs were so much more important than his, was inconceivable.

But, he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep without extinguishing the fire burning in him. It was always like that when he was drunk; his sexual desires exploded and he ended up wanting to be touched, to be caressed by Ginny, to feel alive. A weird and intense need of being loved and to love her would always take control of his senses. It would also increase his attraction towards the human touch in general, one he always tried to avoid normally, one he avoided for so long too.

His barriers and his cold attitude (she named it his Mister Inatteignable look) apparently broke every time the Firewhiskey flowed easily, to the amusement of his wife. She pointed it out to him that it was when he was tipsy that he wouldn't think before clapping a shoulder, hugging a friend or caressing Ginny's knee in front of everyone.

Harry's tongue felt heavy -the result of all the pints he drank tonight or his arousal, he wasn't sure- and he tried for several minutes to concentrate on the noise of the cars hitting the boulevard outside to calm himself.

It was no use.

Getting annoyed at himself, he realized he had no choice. Not tonight.

With an excruciating slowness, he touched the elastic of his waistband, brushing it with his fingertips. Harry looked side-eyed at Ginny and swallowed. Every cell in his body was ignited, begging to be touched, and Harry suddenly only had in mind to satiate and appease the fire burning in him.

He never did this in bed at Ginny's side. It was usually in the shower, or alone while Ginny was away with the Harpies, and it felt so salacious. He took down his pajamas a little, just enough to brush against the side of his cock. Little shivers took possession of his body, and he felt like he couldn't wait anymore.

His thumb twirled around the tip of his cock, like an agonizing torture he was infliging on himself. A torture titilling his excitation. It was just there, just there. He tried to not dwell on the fact it felt reassuring to feel he wanted something so much, but could only brush it with the tip of his fingers, unable to grab it. Like everything in his life for so long. It was comforting. It was his normal. And he knew Ginny would think it was bloody weird.

He was twisted. So fucking twisted.

Ginny had tried to bring up the subject, to point it out to him one night after making love together, and he'd felt so gross, so vulnerable, _attacked_ even. So he denied it.

Still, he never felt she'd judged him, never felt she'd thought less of him, to his surprise. Love and concern were the only things he'd been able to find in her bright eyes.

Her bright eyes flashed in his mind, looking at him, begging him silently to please her, just like he loved her to do. It always made him feel powerful, and _wanted_.

Imagining the warm skin of her hands on his cock, he stroked himself, the grin she always gave him when he shivered in desire now taking the place of her begging eyes on his mind. Ginny would bring him closer to her, taking his head in her hands and kissing him languorously, like she'd need it to live.

He'd trace her jaw, nipping at her chin while she'd murmure how she couldn't wait anymore. He'd take his time despite her groans, savouring every inch of her hot skin, feeling her burning and trembling under his hands. She'd tell him how she'd need him, how she'd want him, only him. In one swift motion, he'd bury himself into her, and they'd let out in communion a satisfied moan of finally, finally, making one.

She wouldn't have any t-shirt on in his fantasies, and her breasts he missed so much would be completely in his sight. He'd caress them, and then, brushing the side of her breasts, he'd feel her tense and arche her body towards him, her breath taking a frantic speed, sign she was losing control and giving herself to him and his calloused hands. It'd elicit a delicious and familiar moan from her, one that always made him close his eyes to gather himself. Gazing up at him, she'd humidicate her lips, and he'd know exactly what she'd be up to.

His heart racing in his chest, he pumped faster and faster, his toes curving into the mattress from the pleasure. His other hand brushed tentitantely his stomach, to finally end up squeezing the dark sheet at his side.

The scenery changed abruptly.

Ginny would now be straddling him, her hot breath blowing on his lips when she'd moan how good every pump of his hips would feel. She'd move her mouth to his shoulder, her teeth biting on it to not wake the baby up. Harry turned his head in his pillow, imagining he gave her full access to his neck to suck.

Opening her legs wider and pushing herself deeper unto him, she'd gasp, letting fall backward her long red hair. His hands would caress the hot soft flesh on the inside of her thighs, and Ginny would softly and intimately moan his name like every time he'd done that. At that moment, he wanted to cherish her thighs, to squeeze them, the ones that forced through a whole night to give birth to the first love at first sight he ever had.

He'd put his hands on her hips, brushing her soft and marked stomach. Reliving nights she'd turned away from him to prevent him from touching it, he took advantage of his fantasies to have total access to her new stomach. From the tips of his fingers to the whole palms of his hands pressing unto it, he'd guide his fingers to where she'd really want them.

Slowly, slowly, and then faster.

Heat would flow in her body, her chest blooming red with the ecstasy she'd experience. All because of him.

And only him.

He loved it, her new body. It was different, but it meant so much to him. It was the proof that his dream came true. It was the first home of his child, his wife's stomach.

His. And it was perfect, because it was hers. It was the only one he ever wanted to touch. To brush his cold skin at night. To feel on his naked body.

" _Harder Harry, harder."_

He moaned the quietler he could, and then licked his lips, jerking his hips a bit higher. Her breasts would bounce with every thrust of his hips he'd make on the mattress, and she'd squeeze her thighs against his, making him gasp in pleasure, and her movements would take a frenetic momentum.

One of her hands would gather seductively her long hair in a bun on the top of her head and she'd bite her bottom lip, the other pushing him on the mattress with her fingers twisting in his chest hair. She'd increase her speed, eyes closed, and help them both to reach their relief, giving everything she'd have.

He felt so close, so fucking close.

Without really realizing what he was doing, his thigh found hers under the cover and it felt so good. She was warm, she was there, she was bloody real.

The bump of her warm arse was touching his hip and he bit his lip to not moan out loud, stroking himself ardently. A moan escaped his lips anyway, and he turned his head in his pillow to camouflage the noise and not wake her up. He knew all the tricks to be silent by now, having been terrified of Dean hearing Harry moaning his name's girlfriend. But now, he had every right to moan her name. She was his.

With his thigh brushing her skin, it confirmed to Harry that she was just _there_ , that he wasn't alone like in those cold depressing nights in the tent, or feeling like a ridiculous little disaster with dirty needs to satisfy in his dark room of Privet Drive. He was used to wanking in silence. There had been no place before their house he'd felt comfortable enough to wank without fear, or urgency. To simply let himself be.

He'd needed to touch her, and to feel she would always be there at his side. That, even after everything he did, every truth about him he told her, she didn't disappear and left him alone with his dreams. She'd always be there to hold him in the middle of the night, to assure him he didn't have to feel alone anymore.

His desire kept pooling into his back with each of his strokes, and he imagined her eyes squeezed shut, working hard to reach her orgasm. Electrical shocks reached his toes, and he felt he was about to explode. He was so close, so so close.

Just a little bit faster.

_Get there. C'mon Gin._

"Gin-" Harry moaned, arching his back with the wave of pleasure increasing. He then stopped himself, mortified, before making too much noise. Not thinking twice, and knowing his release was so close, he grabbed his wand blindly, putting it between his teeth and _bit_. He bit hard, eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on his orgasm and the noise he couldn't do.

And the flashes kept flying in his mind. It always had been her. Wherever he was. Whenever it was.

" _Harry."_

He came on his fist with an unprecedented scale, this time muffling his moans with his fist, hoping he'd been able to control the movements the bed did when he arched his back again and again.

Breath still short, he blinked away the stars in his eyes, not able to move a muscle for a couple of minutes, and then cleaned himself with his wand.

He'd wait, he knew he would, without pressuring her, never. He'd wait the time it needed for her to see the beauty she always was. The one she'd always be.

Turning his head a little, he looked at Ginny, making sure she was still asleep. Satisfied that she wasn't awake, he closed his eyes, the memory of her cold laugh when he'd told her at the bar that she was the fruit of his fantasies ringing in his mind.

"I only think about you," he murmured his promise in the silence of the night.

Little he knew when he finally found sleep that his wife's cheek was harboring a tear, symbol of the deep love she had for him and the relief of finally admitting and accepting her condition.

Tomorrow, she decided, she'd call a mind healer.


End file.
